


blood will have blood

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Divergence, F/F, I don't have a normal concept of how much is too much blood/gore, I'll add more if I need to, M/M, Might come back to format it, Might not, Near Death, Not to be taken seriously, Original Monster thing that is honestly terribly hashed out, Tagging graphic violence just to be safe, Terrible at tagging, This was really just a cope-fic, Trigger warning: blood and manipulative family members, what is canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 17:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Martin's fussing gets him in trouble, Jon almost makes it through without being injured, and nearly everyone gets strangled at least once.





	blood will have blood

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a way of stress relief in the beginning of the year, and a friend of mine suggested I post it because it's the first work I've finished in years. I had just finished season one and was starting season two, so it's not going to follow canon - like, at all. It diverges some time after Prentiss was dealt with and that's all I can tell you. Hopefully, someone gets some enjoyment out of it. 
> 
> Happy reading.
> 
> If I need to tag anything else, please let me know.

"... and then, she was gone. Poor girl. My Rebecca has never really been the same."  
"Statement ends."  
Jon turns the recorder off with a soft click, and Mrs. Elise Todd, the old frail looking woman that had come in to make a statement about her death doling granddaughter, smiles maternally at him.   
"My, that wasn't at all what I was expecting. I'll have to tell Rebecca she needn't have worried."   
"Yes. Well," Jon stands, offering a hand up to the old woman as she attempts to stand on shaking legs, "we may have to ask for a follow up statement, although it may be for the best that Ms. Todd comes to do a statement herself."   
"Yes, I suppose that is the next logical step, isn't it?" Mrs. Todd sighs, taking Jon's proffered elbow without even really looking. "I'll have a chat with her, see if I can't change her mind about coming in. It really is quite cathartic, getting it all down. I worry about her, Mr. Sims. She's been quite closed off, you see, after what happened to Katherine."   
"I would imagine." Jon says after a moment, unsure of what else to say.   
"The loss was quite traumatic. Especially considering the circumstances." Mrs. Todd is looking up at him now, looking almost expectant. Her bony fingers tighten on his elbow.   
Very carefully, Jon extracts his arm. "They seemed very... close."   
"Very close." Mrs. Todd repeats, nodding like Jon has just confirmed something and Jon can't quite shake the feeling that he has, although he's not sure what. "I'll be sure to talk to Rebecca about coming by; perhaps it will help."   
Jon wasn't going to hold his breath.  
"Oh, and Mr. Sims, a word of advice, if she does come," Mrs. Todd's gaze flits over Jon's shoulder before going back to his face. "Keep an eye on what's yours."   
And then she's gone, leaving out of the door she came in and vanishing.   
Martin, who had been the one standing behind Jon with a handful of papers, comes up beside him. "What do you think she means by that?"   
"She's a superstitious old woman who thinks her granddaughter kills people due to a family curse. It was probably meant as a warning."   
"Oh," Martin shifts nervously, swallowing. "Is that all?"  
Jon sighs, turning to face Martin properly. "Was there something you wanted, Martin?"   
"What?" Martin tears his gaze away from the door, blinking once, and then again when he sees Jon's raised eyebrow. "Oh! Right, yes. Um, this is was I could find on that last case we were archiving. It's not much, just resident history and the like, but it's something, right?"   
"Right." Jon deadpans, taking the files from Martin.  
The other man gives Jon a vaguely apologetic look before heading back towards the archival room.

Weeks pass, and the case of the death-doling Rebecca Todd remains practically untouched, save for the same, cursory research they do for each case. Tim had managed to dig up hospital records and confirmed that a Katherine Callaghan had died just when Mrs. Todd had said.   
After receiving what was meant to be a life saving bone marrow transfusion from Rebecca.  
"The doctors assigned to Ms. Callaghan's case say there was a mix up; they had Ms. Todd down as an compatible blood type, when in reality, she was not. It is to my understanding that Ms. Callaghan's family is still in the process of a malpractice lawsuit with the hospital," Jon says into the recorder, "either way, there is a very logical explanation for Ms. Callaghan's sudden death, tragic as it is."  
There's a soft knock on the door. Jon turns the recorder off before answering.   
"Yes, what is it?"   
Martin pokes his head in, and says before Jon can, "I know, I know, you're recording, but, ah, Ms. Todd is here. To see you. She wants to make a statement."   
"Now?"   
Martin nods. "She's very insistent."  
Jon frowns, a little put off, but glances quickly at the room's clock. He has time, technically. He's just not a fan of being caught by surprise like this. Regardless, it's been happening more often lately.   
"Show her in, Martin." Jon orders wearily. "I suppose hearing the account from her end couldn't hurt."  
For a brief moment, Martin looks surprised, but then he is ducking quickly out of the room, presumably to bring Rebecca Todd as Jon has bid. Jon wouldn't be surprised if the other man was speed walking to do so, and shakes his head, but can't quite shake the fond smile curling a his lips.  
The young woman Martin leads back in is pale and gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes, shifting nervously away from the archival assistant when he holds the door open for her politely and keeping her hands tucked very pointedly in the over-sized sleeves of her jumper. Jon can tell, even as he stands to greet Rebecca Todd, that her appearance is worrying the large-hearted assistant. Martin does so like to fuss.  
Ms. Todd doesn't take the hand Jon holds out when he introduces himself, eyeing the extended appendage like it might bite her.   
"It might be best," she says in a soft, quivering voice, "that I don't... touch anyone."   
It's an appropriate response, Jon supposes, if one believed what her grandmother was saying about her. Still, Martin is frowning over Ms. Todd's shoulder in such clear concern, Jon clears his throat pointedly.   
"If that is how you'd prefer things. Martin. Don't you have something... else to do. Work, perhaps?"   
"Ah. Yes, right, uh," he hesitates, "Ms. Todd?"   
Ms. Todd startles at being addressed, turning wide eyes to Martin. The archival assistant gives her a brief, encouraging smile.  
"Can I get you anything, before you start your statement? Tea?"   
Ms. Todd hesitates, clearly torn before asking softly, "do you, um, have disposable cups?"  
Martin nods enthusiastically, clearly encouraged, and Jon pushes down the urge to tell them to get on with it. He knows from experience that the more relaxed the person, the more coherent the statement. Thus, he lets Martin do his work.   
"Then, um, yes, please. Milk and two sugars?"  
"I'll get right on it." Martin promises with one last smile, and then ducks out, presumably towards their little break station to make Ms. Todd her tea.  
Alone in the office with Jon, Ms. Todd shifts uncomfortably, and then, as she gratefully takes the seat Jon gestures for her to take, she says, "he seems... nice."   
"Martin is very accommodating." Jon responds, and tries not to make it sound bitter.   
"It's sweet. I haven't had many people be sweet to me, since... well, since Katie."   
Jon, never one for small talk - a failing of his, according to a few people - clears his throat uncomfortably. "Yes. Well, perhaps you should save that for the statement."  
"Oh. Of course. How," Ms. Todd swallows, blinking rapidly and for one terrifying moment, Jon thinks she's going to cry, "how silly of me."  
Thankfully - and there's a thought - Martin comes back with the Ms. Todd's tea, looking a little hassled. Tim's doing, most likely. "Here you go!" He says cheerily, handing it to Ms. Todd, who takes it with her hands still stubbornly within her sleeves.   
"Thank you."   
"It's not a problem." Martin says like Tim won't be bothering him for the rest of the week for tea service. There's a kind smile on his lips.   
Jon clears his throat again.   
"Ah, yes." Martin hurries out of the door, calling a brief "good luck, Ms. Todd," before closing it behind him.   
Jon resists the urge to huff. Good luck, indeed.  
The sentiment seems to strengthen Ms. Todd, though. She smiles down at her tea briefly before taking a sip, looking a little more sure of herself.   
Jon straightens the tape recorder. "Shall we start?"   
Ms. Todd takes a small, bracing breath and nods. "Might as well, right?" 

J. Sims: "Statement of Rebecca Todd, taken directly from subject on March 20th 20XX, regarding the..." 

R. Todd: "... Events leading to the... d-death of Katherine Callaghan."

J. Sims: "... Statement begins."

R. Todd: "I... I've known Katie for what feels like forever now. Well, it's knew now, I guess... but we met when we were little. I was being pushed around by some older boys, and she ran in, with her pigtails and scraped knees and punched Jeremy Gibbs right in the nose *soft laugh*. I don't think I've ever seen a group of boys run away so quickly. She is... was... amazing. She'd take me on adventures, which really just ended up being us playing make believe in her backyard, but for me it was real. She was the first friend I'd ever had, as it was difficult for me to make them because my grandmother and I moved around so much.   
We quickly became inseparable. I... don't think my grandmother liked that much, but she's always been a little overprotective. Now I know why.   
Anyway. We went to and finished school together, and, after we graduated we... started dating. Katie was the one who asked me, actually, since I was too frightened to ruin what we had if she didn't return my feelings. She was always so much braver than me...  
So. We were dating. We went to uni, got jobs. Her parents were so kind. Her brother was like the one I never had. I fit, and Katie made me so, so happy, I-  
I don't know. I must have made some... some kind of mistake. Made someone angry. My grandmother says what happened is... a - a punishment of some sort, because I was selfish and, according to her, the women in my mother's family carry death. That's what she said. That's how she says my father died. My mother dragged him into it with her *weak, tearful laugh*. And to think, all this time I thought they'd died in a car wreck.   
We - Katie and I, I mean - were going to get married, you know? I was going to ask her. I'd bought the ring, and was working up the courage to just - just ask.   
But then, Katie got sick. The doctors were... mystified, might be the right word. They couldn't find a cause, and what Katie had - some bone marrow disease, I won't bore you with the details - was extremely rare, and very, very aggressive. She was hospitalized within a couple of months of her diagnosis.   
Even in the hospital though, she'd always smile at me and... and tell me, 'smile for me, darling. I'll be out of here soon, and then we'll fly around the world, just like we've always wanted.'  
*a long pause, some muffled sniffling*"

J. Sims: ... are you alright to continue?

R. Todd: "Yes, yes, sorry. If I don't get it out now, I don't think I ever will."

J. Sims: Very well. Whenever you're ready

R. Todd: "Anyway. Katie was so sure she was going to recover, and I... well, I wanted to believe her. I did believe her. If anyone could recover, it was the girl who punched Jeremy Gibbs right in his fat nose.   
I was spending most of my days in the hospital by this time, only going home when I really needed a shower and a change of clothes. Katie was worried, I could tell, but I... I just couldn't leave her. Maybe that's what my grandmother meant, about being selfish. I don't know.   
Either way, Katie wasn't getting better. Have... have you ever watched someone you love, so very deeply, fading away in front of you? It's... it's not pretty, and it was happening, right there, in front of me. She tried, at first, to pretend, but eventually, she was just too exhausted. She spent a lot of time, near the end, sleeping, and sometimes she'd... talk... in her sleep.  
The doctors told me it was likely just ramblings, but there was one thing Katie kept saying. It was something like 'mortis' - Latin, right? For death? She used to have nightmare, too. She told me, when she was coherent enough, that they were always about a cloaked figure, just standing there. Staring.   
I was... well, unnerved, might be the right way to put it, but even Katie had to be scared, right? Even if she was so good at hiding it. The nightmares could have been an subconscious manifestation, for all I knew - it certainly made more sense than what my grandmother had begun saying. About the death carrier thing.  
Eventually, the doctors said they'd come up with a solution. The, uh, bone marrow transfusion, as I'm sure you know. I was so overjoyed, and even more ecstatic when they found out I was a match! god, I could have bounced off of the walls, I was so happy. A treatment! An actual treatment, that would work and - well, we all know it didn't work out like that.   
They say the doctors made a mistake. That I wasn't actually compatible.   
But I'd had my blood typed in school, and had seen the original test results, and - you have to believe me - we were a match. Katie and I were both O positive - we went to the damned blood typing thing together, and I remember, very clearly, what both of our types were because I kept thinking 'in case of a medical emergency, I'll know.'  
*bitter laugh*  
Ironic, right?   
Anyway. You know the rest. They went through with the transfusion and Katie... Katie died. I was so shocked, so heartbroken, I -   
I probably should have listened to my grandmother."

J. Sims: ... statement ends.

The second the recorder is turned off, Ms. Todd buries her face in her hands, the tea Martin had given her half drunk and long since gone cold.   
"You probably think I'm insane."   
"I... make a point to remain skeptical." Jon answers, carefully. Regardless of what really caused Katherine Callaghan's death, Ms. Todd was still mourning, and, if Jon was reading into it properly, guilt-ridden. "I must ask, however. Has this happened to... anyone other than Ms. Callaghan?"   
Ms. Todd shakes her head, lifting her face from her hands. "My grandmother says--"  
"Yes, I know. But this cannot be the only time you had been selfish."   
Ms. Todd blinks, lowering her hands a little further. "... No. I guess not." She blinks again, and then frowns. "Then, why...?"   
"There could very well be other complications that occurred, even if your blood types were compatible, ones that the doctors weren't even aware of. The cause likely wasn't even paranormal."   
"... An unfortunate accident." Ms. Todd mutters, staring down at her now exposed hands. Jon notices the nails bitten to the quick. "I... you're right. god, I feel like an idiot..."   
"You're grieving, and people often try to come up with explanations for why things happen in their lives. Regardless, there was a few things I'd like to follow up on, for the sake of completeness. If we were to contact you for further information...?" Jon trails off.   
"I'd be happy to help. Who knows, maybe you can find something the doctors couldn't." Ms. Todd stands, hands fluttering before she settles on collecting the cup Martin had brought for her. "I... thank you, Mr. Sims. I was doubtful that this would help, but..."   
"It's no problem." Jon responds, standing as well. He walks Ms. Todd to the door, and that marks what he figures, at the time, would be the end of their acquaintance. People hardly came back after their statement was made, after all - save for a few... outliers.  
Either way, Jon sends Sasha, Tim and Martin out to research the new information they have been given, but they don't come back with much else. Sasha does get a hold of the blood drive documents Ms. Todd was referring too (by means Jon figures he's better off not asking after), and it confirms what Ms. Todd had said in her statement.  
She and Katherine Callaghan had had matching blood types.  
The Callaghan family decline to speak to Martin, and he returns to the archives looking disheartened, but then leaves a few hours later seemingly determined.   
Sasha watches him leave with a cocked brow, before turning to Tim. "What's gotten into him?"   
Tim just shrugs a shoulder. "He just better not bring a friend back, if you know what I mean."  
Sasha gives him a quelling look, and smacks him on the arm with a file.   
Tim remains unapologetic. 

Jon is just shutting off the tape recorder, another statement archived when Martin bursts though his office door, excited and windswept, brandishing a printed off piece of paper triumphantly.   
"I've found it!" He exclaims, as Jon tries, a little unsuccessfully to calm his racing heart.  
"Found what?" Jon demands irritably, hand still pressed to his chest.  
Martin, apparently too excited to pay any heed to Jon's tone, or to do his usual, apologetic fussing, slaps the paper down on his desk. "Elise Todd's birthname."  
"What?"   
"I knew something was strange when I couldn't find any records of past residencies, even though Rebecca - uh - Ms. Todd, that is, mentioned in her statement that she and her grandmother moved around a lot." Martin shrugs. "So, I had a... friend of mine do some digging, and I found Mrs. Todd's birth records. Mattie told me it was pretty deeply buried. I figured it might be relevant. Apparently, Mrs. Todd's only just recently changed it; did it about a month or so before she and Rebecca Todd moved to London."  
Jon glances down at the paper; on it is a printed out copy of the birth records of a Lucinda Weber, and, behind that, a application for a change of name. "Did your... friend unearth a reason as to why Mrs. Todd found it necessary to change her name?"   
Hesitantly, Martin shakes his head. When Jon opens his mouth, Martin hurries to add, "but I do know that Ms. Todd has no idea that her grandmother isn't using her birth name."   
Jon closes his mouth and blinks. "How in god's name do you know that?"   
"I contacted her once I found out, to, uh, ask if she knew the reason. She said that this was as much news to her and it was to me. And, Jon, as far as she knows Todd has always been the family name. She doesn't remember her grandmother ever using another one. Or her father or mother."  
Jon pauses, swallows down the perfectly good explanation he had come up with as to why that could be, and considers the information, connecting the dots quickly. "... I see."  
"Weird, yeah?"  
"Perhaps. But we can't jump to any conclusions before we have all of the facts." Jon pulls the paper print out closer to him with his index finger, frowning. "... good job, Martin. I'll have Tim follow up on this."   
Martin blinks, clearly surprised at the praise, before grinning. It's wide, and bright, and Jon finds that he has to look away for a brief moment, else he be blinded. 

"You're like the little boy pulling on the little girl's pigtails, aren't you?"   
"I beg your pardon?" Jon demands, and the young woman - one he's never seen before - grins at him, resting her chin on her tented hands, her elbows on his desk and her dark eyes sparkling.  
"You know? The shite all of our parents told us; 'if he teases you, that means he likes you' and all that rot."  
"I have no idea what you're - how the hell did you get in here?" Jon stands from his chair, marching over to the door to throw it open and demand who in the world decided to let this strange woman into his office - and freezes once it's opened.   
The outside is dark. Too dark, much too dark, only the skeletal outlines of the shelves - which are empty - and a few shapes which could be the desks of the archival assistants' visible through the murk.   
"You're dreaming, Jon." The woman says from behind him. Too close behind him. He can feel her breath on the nape of his neck. "Should I call you Jon? That's what the others call you, isn't it?"   
Jon whips around. "What are you?"   
The woman's grin stretches. "I can't just be a figment of your imagination?"   
"With the life I lead that is extremely unlikely." Jon deadpans, and, again, that grin stretches. It's too wide, shows too many teeth that - Jon realises with a start - are flecked with blood.   
"Smart one, aren't you?" The woman seats herself comfortably in Jon's chair, spreading her arms wide like she's inviting a hug. "That's good. You'll need that."   
Jon feels a shiver of foreboding run down his spine. "What do you mean?"   
The grin drops, and suddenly, the woman looks almost normal, a concerned friend offering helpful advice. "Keep an eye on what's yours, archivist."   
Jon jolts, "are you--"

"Jon? Jon, wake up."   
Jon jack-knives into a sitting position, the back of his skull nearly connecting with Tim's nose.   
"Steady!" Tim puts a grounding, if uninvited, hand on Jon's shoulder, eyes wide in alarm. "You alright?"  
"Tim - wha -" Jon looks around. He's in his office. He'd fallen asleep in his office. Again. Jon slumps forward, burying his face in his hands, and pushes down the ridiculous urge to get up and check that all of the lights are on in the archives outside.   
"... Jon?"   
"I'm fine." Jon lifts his face, squinting at Tim. "What is it?"   
"I was just heading out and saw your office light still on. Wanted to see if you needed anything else and found you asleep." The other man smirks. "You do own a bed, don't you? One that you sleep in?"   
Jon stomps down on the urge to tell Tim to stuff it. "I'm in no further need of your assistance for the day. You can leave."   
"Last one too personal a question?"  
"Tim."   
The other man raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it, I'm going. Just try and get some proper sleep, yeah? Otherwise Martin will start on his mother hen routine again. There's only so much of that a man can take."   
"Quite."   
Tim smirks like he knows a secret Jon doesn't and leaves with one last good night called over his shoulder. Jon waits until he's out of sight before slumping in his chair and scrubbing a hand over his face. He doesn't know when exactly he had fallen asleep, but he feels exhausted, even though he has just woken.   
"Keep an eye on what's yours." He repeats, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. Elise Todd had said that to him, hadn't she? So was the dream his mind's way of giving voice to the misgivings he had about this case? Was his subconscious recognizing the possible dangers to himself and his assitants?   
For some reason, he finds that unlikely.  
Theoretically, the mind can't produce faces it hasn't seen.   
Jon had never seen the woman in his dream before in his life.  
He huffs, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough to see stars. He's much too worked up over this. Other than the hinted warning passed on to him by a woman nearly twice his senior, Jon has had no other reason to be concerned for anyone's well-being.  
... And he'd hardly call anyone working at the institute his own. It's absurd.  
Jon's gaze shifts to the pile of statements he still has to record, and he spends a long moment contemplating doing so, just for something to keep him busy.   
However, something makes him dismiss the idea, and twenty minutes later, Jon finds himself packing his things and preparing for the trip home.   
A few hours sleep in his own bed couldn't hurt.   
He doesn't turn off the lights, budget be damned.

He falls asleep.

The woman is waiting when he opens his eyes, outlined in the doorway of his office, the too dark archives stretching out for miles upon endless miles behind her. Jon feels very alone.  
"Welcome back." She says, with her bloody, too wide smile.

 

Martin wakes up feeling like an elephant has decided to lay on his chest. He feels like he can't breathe, his lungs not quite doing their job. His heart, too, is beating much too quickly, like it usually does after a nightmare, but he can't remember a thing about any possible nightmare. He doesn't remember any of his dreams for that night, actually, and, in between catching his breath and slowing his heart rate, he wonders why that bothers him.   
Dreams, he's usually good at remembering. More so if they're nightmares; he's certainly has enough fuel for them (one time, he remembers tearing through the tunnels below the institute, remembers breathless terror and the overwhelming urge to get out, escape; then, he remembers the body, only it's Jon slumped lifelessly in that chair, and not Gertrude Robinson and he feels so, so guilty for thinking somehow that's worse). They're not pleasant, and his mind seems to like remembering the unpleasant the best.   
Yes. That's probably it. He's not used to forgetting, and it feels strange.   
Eventually, Martin wrestles his body back under control. He checks the clock next to his bed. It's still dark outside, so Martin isn't sure why he's surprised to see that he still has four hours before he has wake up and head into work. He's vaguely mortified.  
He decides, still with a vague, haunting sense of unease, he's not getting any more sleep for the night. He drags himself out of bed, and sets about a slower version of his morning routine, even managing to fit in some tea from a mug, instead of pouring it all it a travel cup to take to the office.   
It's strange that doing something that is usually relaxing is still tinged with that uneasy feeling, a sense of urgency with no root. Martin feels the strangest urge to prepare for a bloody review, which is ridiculous. Jon's done those already; Martin had spent most of his rambling nervously, Jon constantly reminding him to stay on track, although he had seemed less impatient than usual when he said his little reminders.   
Martin sighs, slumping into his couch. The unease is something he's fairly certain is left over from Prentiss - it's just... it's been awhile, since it has gotten this bad.  
In the end, he leaves for the archives two hours early, with the dawn just cresting red on the horizon.   
It's never hurt to have an early start. 

"And just who are you trying to impress?" Tim asks with a suggestive glance to Jon's office door, hours later when he comes in holding a disposable travel mug, wearing sunglasses on an overcast day; Martin mentally kicks himself for thinking an early start wouldn't hurt.   
"No one." He grumbles, clicking moodily on one of his case documents. It opens, and the light feels like stabbing needles to his eyes.  
One of Tim's brows rise, and he sets his cup down on his desk. Martin is instantly assaulted by the smell of strong black coffee, and his stomach turns. "You alright?"   
"Fine." Martin responds shortly, and then, softer, "I just... didn't sleep well last night. Got a headache, you know?"  
Tim hums understandingly, and roots around in his desk drawer. He hands Martin a small, foil wrapped pack of paracetamol, which Martin takes gratefully, swallowing two down with large gulps of what he thinks is his fifth cup of tea in the hours he's been at the archives.   
"You look like shite." Tim informs him cheerily when he hands the painkillers back, and just grins when Martin glowers at him.  
The painkillers help at least.  
They spend the next hour in relative silence - relative only because Tim's a talker and Martin is too polite to ignore him, or to do that unnerving growly thing Jon does when he's in no mood for small talk - and its half and hour after that when Martin begins to feel uneasy again, but for different reasons.   
Jon hasn't made it into work yet. Tim has made it into work before Jon, and Sasha is still nowhere to be seen.   
Another ten minutes pass, and Martin mentions it to Tim, trying for casual but likely coming across as nervous. Tim glances at his clock and frowns.   
"Maybe they're ill?" He suggests.  
"Elias would have come in and told use at least, wouldn't he? They'd have to call him." Martin asks, his own brow furrowing when Tim concedes the point without coming up with an alternative. He's looking worried now too.  
Martin had been hoping for carefree reassurances.  
"Well, there's only one thing for it." Tim announces, and takes out his mobile.   
Jon doesn't answer. Neither does Sasha.   
Martin tries, even though if they hadn't answered for Tim, they're unlikely to answer for him, and to no one's surprise, gets the same outcome.   
Tim frowns at his phone, and then looks seriously at Martin. "Seen any worms lately?"   
Martin wants to hit him.

They speak to Elias, who, in the end, allows them the time to go to Sasha and Jon's flats to both check on them and find out what is amiss if possible. He doesn't seem overly worried, just more... annoyed.   
Martin doesn't mention it.

Martin doesn't make it to Sasha's apartment.   
Tim was on his way to Jon's and Martin to Sasha's, as they had agreed (Martin secretly hoping that Tim and Jon would actually talk) and Martin, still with the sick sense of unease, notices someone is following him.   
It's a man, or it at least presenting as a man, wearing a long, heavy, dark coat and dark trousers. Martin's eyes, however, are drawn to the man's face. Or its lack thereof.   
It had been by chance that Martin had even noticed - he had been passing by the display window of some shop, and the man's blank, featureless face had been reflected back. After that, Martin could see little else. He knows, that if he keeps going where he's going, he's going to guide the thing straight to Sasha.   
So, Martin takes a sharp turn and heads in a different direction. The man, predictably, follows.   
With his heart pounding, Martin is struck with the overwhelming urge to run, however aware he is that he has nowhere to run to. You can't exactly dodge a paranormal being on the underground, and he's learned enough from Prentiss that the archive is only so good at keeping things out anyway. The faceless man is picking up speed now. Martin isn't a tall man, nor is he really in shape. The faceless man catches up with him quickly.   
Martin doesn't even have time to scream before hands are wrapping around his throat with a superhuman strength, and the world goes black.   
Strangely, with his last, conscious thoughts, Martin finds himself thinking that he's glad it's not worms.

 

The Jonathan Sims that answers in response to Tim's pounding on the door is not the Jonathan Sims Tim is used to.   
For starters, he's still in his pajamas. Tim's pretty sure he's never seen Jon out of his stuffy cardigans. Jon's hair is also an absolute mess, and he's pale, with dark circles hanging under his eyes as he squints at Tim in tired annoyance and then surprise.   
"Tim? What - what in god's name are you doing here?"  
"You didn't come in to work. You were late." Tim blurts, because he can't think of anything else to say. "Martin and I were beginning to think you were murdered in the night, or something. Martin was almost beside himself."   
Jon blinks, before ducking his head and pressing the heels of his palm into his eyes. "Martin and - what in the world are you talking about?"   
"You're two hours late, Jon. To work. You and Sasha both, actually." Tim says, slowly in case his boss is having problems processing. If it comes across like he's speaking to a small child, so be it. "Elias let us come to check in."   
"Two hours - that's impossible."   
Tim scowls. "Looked at a clock lately?"   
"Yes," Jon answers, in the same, annoyed tone he uses when he thinks someone is wasting his precious time. "I still have an hour before I have to head in."   
Tim shoves his hand into the pocket of his jeans, and takes out his phone, turning on the screen. "Then something's up with you clock, mate." He growls, and practically shoves the phone into Jon's face.   
Jon blinks, takes Tim's phone from him, and stares at the digital numbers on display. Then, he pales, face slackening in disbelief for a brief moment, before spinning around and heading back into his flat. And taking Tim's phone with him.   
"Come on now!" Tim calls after him, entering the archivist's flat reluctantly. "Did you really have to--" He cuts off. Outside of Jon's window, which he had just opened with jerky, aggravated motions, the sky is dark. The same sky Tim knows for a fact is sunny, with just a few clouds.   
"What the hell --"   
"My clocks say it's still early morning. My alarm just went off a few minutes ago." Jon says, and hands Tim his phone back pointedly. Tim takes it out of sheer reflex.   
"Well, it's not." Tim tells him, turning away from the impossible darkness beyond the window glass to look at Jon, who is frowning severely. "What the hell is going on?" Does this have anything to do with your sketchy behaviour lately? Tim wants to ask, but he's too fed up for a fight.  
"... I don't know, and I don't like it." Jon growls, and then, as if a thought occurred to him, he adds, "you mentioned Martin being worried, earlier. Where is he?"  
"Went to check on Sasha. She didn't come in either."  
"Damn it." Jon mutters, looking worried and... scared. "Wait here."  
Tim does, only because he'd rather take his chances with someone else, even if it is Jon, then risk going about it alone. Soon, Jon returns from the room he'd disappeared into (his bedroom, presumably) fully dressed and looking like a solider heading out to battle. Tim feels a little ill when he realises he feels the same.   
"I'm calling Martin." Tim announces, with no lead up, before Jon can start talking. He leaves the flat before he does, because he has the distinct feeling his phone wouldn't work inside, and dials the number, Jon coming to hover over his shoulder.   
There's no answer. Tim takes his phone from his ear with an aggravated huff, glaring at it and jabbing his thumb onto the redial. No answer.   
"Damn it, Martin." He hisses, and looks at Jon, who's paled again. "Well. What now?"   
"We head to the archives."   
"What? Why?" Tim demands, grabbing hold of Jon's arm when the other man attempts to slip passed him. "Martin and Sasha are both missing and you want to go into work?"   
Jon shrugs out of his grip. "It's not going into work, Tim. Whatever is happening, we'd be idiots to go in blind. The archives might give us some idea of what we're dealing with."   
"By the time we find anything, we'll be organizing funerals, Jon."  
The archivist jerks as if struck, staring at Tim. Tim stares back. Jon, suddenly, draws himself up to his full height and marches off. Tim, after a moment, sighes heavily and follows.

"There you are!" Sasha exclaims when Tim and Jon enter the archives, freezing both men in their tracks. "Elias told me something was happening, but that no one told him any details. What's going on? Where's Martin?"   
Jon feels a sinking feeling in his stomach.  
"You haven't seen him?" Tim asks grimly.   
Sasha shakes her head, looking bewildered. "When I left I noticed I had a missed call from him - and you, Tim - but my phone hadn't gone off. Strange, isn't it?"   
"Yes." Jon agrees faintly. "Very strange."

 

"You've given up."   
It's not a question, and Jon knows, without looking out of the open door of his office to the empty archive beyond, that he is dreaming. The woman with the bloody smile is lounging on his desk, watching him with blank, impassive eyes.  
"Don't you have... anything else to do?" Jon demands, heart-sick and in no mood to be dealing with some dream-stalking horror summoned from the cosmos - even if this particular manifestation seems fairly mild-mannered in comparison to some others. But it's been a week. There's no sign of Martin.   
Jon feels like there's something he could have done. Anything.  
The grin doesn't dim, despite her next works. "Unfortunately, no."   
Jon leans his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. "What do you want?"   
"I feel your grief." The creature says instead of answering, head tilted back and eyes closed. "You've abandoned him, your Martin."  
Jon feels himself jerking to his feet. "How dare you--!"   
"Shame then, that he isn't lost. Not yet, anyway."  
Jon draws short, rage dying in his chest. "...What?"  
The creature opens her eyes, and there's no whites, no iris, just the sickening red of ruptured blood vessels. "Your Martin is still alive, Archivist. Best hurry while he stays that way."  
Jon... Jon's not sure how he feels. Hopeful, maybe. Disbelieving, certainly. But above it all, he feels a creeping sense of suspicion.   
"Why are you telling me this?"   
More blood as the smile stretches. It dribbles down the creature's chin. "Maybe I like this form and I don't feel like giving it up."  
"It can't be that simple."   
She cocks her head. "Why not?" 

Jon wakes with a jerk in his office, his cheek pressed against accounts of mysterious disappearances and those entities behind them. They've been useless, really, only providing Jon with nightmare fuel when he's not having his little encounters with the Woman with the Bloody Smile, and had brought them no closer to finding Martin. Still, it gives Jon a semblance of action, the feeling of doing something.   
It's well after midnight. Jon bites back a groan and scrubs a hand over his face, only to feel something smear along the lines where his fingers and palm touch.   
The iron tang of blood hits his nose seconds later. Jon jerks, nausea roiling in his stomach, and sees blood coating the skin of his right hand, coming from a cut he doesn't remember being there earlier. Blood that's he's smeared across his face. Heart pounding, head trying to make sense of it, Jon realises that there's a trail - little droplets leading to a nearby shelf. A hand print stands out on one, stark in red. Legs trembling, Jon stands, and move as if in autopilot to the shelf, opening the drawer.   
All of the tapes are untouched, save for one. Jon extracts it with shaking hands and stares at the label.   
It's Rebecca Todd's statement, with a note attached in red ink, in handwriting Jon doesn't recognize.

Last chance to look out for what's yours, Archivist. 

Jon waits, and tries not to look too much like he's lurking while doing just that.   
The tea in front of him has gone cold by now. Jon hasn't touched it. He's too anxious, and Rebecca Todd is an hour late. He knows he could have sent Tim, or even Sasha, but he's not willing to risk anyone else. He's already lost Martin, which is... admittedly a heavier blow than he would have thought it to be just a few months prior.   
Now, he's impatient and worried and really, really wishing something would just be straightforward. For once.   
"Mr. Sims?"   
Jon looks up to see Rebecca Todd hovering uncertainly by the table he's sitting at, apologetic and nervous. "Ms. Todd. I was beginning to think you weren't coming." He can't quite keep the annoyance out of his voice - time is short.  
"I know, I'm sorry, I -" she breaks off, frowning. "What happened to your hand?"   
Jon resists the urge to look at the bandages binding his cut, but only just. "An incident with a bread knife. It's fine."   
"Right." She says, doubtful, but sits in the chair across from Jon. "I am sorry I'm late. I was going over some papers Katie had left me and, well, to be honest, I wasn't quite expecting any follow up, since Martin didn't bother contacting me again after asking about my family name."   
"Yes. Well, I'm afraid some follow up in in order. Martin has..." Jon pauses, wondering how he should word it, and then deciding to hell with it, and saying straight out, "Martin has gone missing."   
"What?" Ms. Todd gasps, seemingly genuinely surprised. "For how long? What happened?"   
"It's been a week. We're not certain what happened exactly, but I have reason to believe it's in connection to you. And your statement."   
Ms. Todd blinks. "... I don't understand."   
"Your case was the last Martin was working on before he disappeared." Jon tells her, because he can't exactly tell her that he'd been lead to her case by a dream-stalking entity with a strange attachment to its current form.   
"So, what? You... you think I have something to do with his disappearance?"   
"Not necessarily." Jon says, even though he very much does think so. "Ms. Todd, have you--"  
"Rebecca."   
Jon stops short. "What?"   
"Rebecca. If you're going to accuse me of kidnapping someone I consider a friend - one of the only ones that have been decent to be since Katie's death, I might add - you might as well call me Rebecca."  
"I'm hardly accusing you of kidnapping, Ms. Todd."   
"You may as well be. It's connected to me, right? Call me Rebecca."  
"... Very well."   
"Good." Rebecca settles, staring at Jon wearily. She looks a little less tired than the first time Jon had seen her, but there's a shadow to her eyes, one that Jon sometimes catches in his own reflection. "What did you want to ask me? I haven't seen Martin since we spoke about my family name."  
"Yes, I'm aware. I wanted to ask if it's possible that someone would want to... harm Martin. Perhaps for digging."  
To her credit, Rebecca actually looks like she's considering it before shaking her head. "The only people in my family still alive are me and my grandmother, Mr. Sims. And I don't know the reason why our family name was changed, but I doubt it's reason enough to warrant kidnapping."   
Jon makes a frustrated noise.   
Rebecca takes a moment to observe him before softening. "... I am sorry. Martin is very sweet. I just... I don't know what kind of help I could be. I didn't even know until you told me."   
"I know now. I had just thought... no. Never mind." Jon pauses, and then asks, a little desperately. "Do you have any information that could be relevant. Any at all?"   
Rebecca thinks for a long, long moment before shaking her head. "I'm sorry. It's just... it's been normal lately. A little too normal, if I'm honest."   
Jon perks. "What do you mean?"  
For a moment, Rebecca looks reluctant before sighing, heavily, and saying, "it's my grandmother. For a few weeks after Katie's death she was... understanding. Letting me grieve, you know? Scream and rage at the universe, whatever. Now, though? She's pretending like nothing's happened, like we're where we were before I started dating Katie."   
"I. I see." Jon murmurs, disappointed.  
Rebecca grimaces. "Not very helpful, I know. I'm sorry."  
Jon lifts a hand, suddenly feeling tired. This can't be the only avenue to explore. There has to be something else. Unless he was fooling himself, finally giving into delusion. "It's alright."   
"No. It's not."   
Jon swallows. "No. I suppose not."   
After a brief moment to silence, Rebecca stands. "I have to go." She tells him, taking out a notebook as she speaks and scribbling down a phone number before handing it to him. "If you think of any more questions, or find out anything about Martin, let me know?"   
"Yes." Numbly, Jon takes the paper. "Thank you for you time, Ms - Rebecca."   
Rebecca Todd gives him a tight lipped smile, and brief, sympathetic pat on the shoulder and leaves the cafe. Jon sits and stares into his cold tea before leaving himself, leaving it on the table.   
Inside the cup, the liquid turns a deep, clotted red.

Life goes on, even though it feels... off.   
Another week passes. Jon, Tim and Sasha look into more missing person's cases with little results. The Woman with the Bloody Smile remains suspiciously absent from Jon's dreams, which are usually instead full of various nightmare images of Martin's possible fate.   
Tim grows even more irritable. Sasha quiet. Jon... well, Jon actually wishes to be on the receiving end of Martin's fussing, if only to hear his voice. The archives don't seem to be the same place without him.   
Jon, however, doesn't give up, a feat of sheer stubbornness, despite the seeming multitude of dead ends and Elias' not so subtle hints, which is why he finds himself leaving the archives late on a Friday night.  
He's the last one out, and it's dark, not even a star in the sky. He's tired.   
Which might be why he doesn't noticed the man following him until he catches his pursuers reflection in a blacked out window just a few feet from the institute. He doesn't have a face. And he knows Jon saw, if the way he begins to charge is anything to go off of.   
Jon, unable to think of anything else - he's unarmed and unprepared - attempts to run, but the thing catches up with him quickly.   
Jon feels hands wrap around his throat, feels his feet being lifted off of the ground. His vision spots quickly with his airways cut off the way they were.   
But then, the pressure loosens abruptly, and Jon falls, feeling a brief, white hot flash of pain through the haze that has settled over his mind when his ankle rolls in the awkward landing.   
They thing that attacked him screams, even though it has no mouth, and stumbles back, hands clawing at the back of its head. A pale faced Rebecca Todd appears from behind it, hurrying to Jon's side and pulling him up.   
"Are you alright?" She demands over the screeching  
"I'm... I'm fine." Jon gasps out as the thing pulls a pen, of all things, out of its head, blood rushing in great spurts of the hole it's made.   
"Oh god..." Rebecca whimpers, turning a little green. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what is --"   
The creature lunges forward clumsily. Rebecca pushes Jon to the side. The archivist tumbles in a heap of graceless limbs while she falls to the other side. The thing stumbles through the space they once had been, silent now. Ignoring Rebecca, it turns unerringly to face where Jon lay, trying to pick himself up.   
Rebecca jumps on its back, the pen the thing had discarded in her hand. She stabs in again, in the neck this time, and goes flying back when the thing jerks, attempting to staunch the raging flow to no avail. The thing bleeds, and bleeds, until it withers completely, collapsing to the bloodied pavement with a wet slap of empty skin and soaked clothing.   
There's a long, drawn out silence.   
"What the hell," Rebecca begins, breathing heavily, "is going on?"   
Jon, unable to fully tear his eyes away from the bloodied, empty skin and clothes, says faintly, "I think it's best we return to the archives. I'll... explain to the best of my abilities there."

"Did I... kill that thing?" Rebecca asks when the silence lasts too long, seated in Jon's office with a steaming cup of tea sat in front of her and an old blanket - likely a remnant from when Martin was living in the archives - wrapped around her shoulders. "With - with a... pen?"   
"To be completely honest," Jon murmurs, rubbing ruefully at his neck, where bruises shaped like hands are already beginning to show, "I'm not entirely sure it was alive to begin with."  
"Oh. Well, there's something. I guess." She picks up her mug but doesn't take a sip, cradling it between her hands instead. "... It's a good thing you texted me then."   
Jon, previously fussing with his collar in an attempt to hide the bruises, freezes. "What?"   
Rebecca stares at him in vague dread and no small amount of resignation. "... You didn't send me a text message telling me you had news on Martin, did you?"  
Jon shakes his head.   
Rebecca lets out a long, drawn out sigh and slumps in her chair. "Right." She murmurs tiredly.   
"Would I be able to see it?" Jon asks, and waits for Rebecca to bring up on on her phone, handing it to him for his scrutiny.   
The text certainly looks like it was written by Jon; if he didn't know better, Jon would say he had written and just forgotten about it. It says exactly what Rebecca had said it had, along with a request for Rebecca to meet Jon at the institute.   
"It seems someone -" or something "- had wanted you here, tonight." Jon rubs at his brow, where he can feel an ache building. "Now the question is who would that be, and what all of this has to do with Martin's disappearance."   
"Is that all?" Rebecca asks, faux cheerful, and Jon can't even find it within himself to be annoyed.

Tim comes in to work to the sight of Jon's office light on, and the soft sound of rustling papers and clacking keys. He dumps his bag next to his desk a little too harshly, annoyed. He hasn't been sleeping well.  
Martin is a nice guy, Tim's friend, and Tim wouldn't even want to wish his vivid imagination on his worst enemy.  
And here's Jon, their illustrious, ridiculous leader, working himself to death. It would almost be sweet, if the sight of the office lights hadn't worked Tim into a sleep deprived tizzy because his boss was an idiot, and dying of exhaustion and malnutrition wouldn't bring Martin back anymore than their dead end research.   
Tim marches up to the office and shoves the door open, briefly satisfied when it's collision with the wall makes the loudest bang possible. "Look, Martin isn't here, but someone has to pick up the damn slack, apparently, because you --!" Tim's rant cuts short abruptly. "You're... not Jon."   
Rebecca Todd stares at him, wide eyed from behind her laptop screen, tea from the mug she's still holding splashed across the front of her shirt from where she'd spilled it in her alarm at Tim's entrance. "Er. No, I--" she glances down, sees the stain. "Oh, bugger."   
"Oh. Damn it, sorry, I --" Tim grabs a handful of napkins from his pocket, ones he has shoved there that morning while picking up the greasiest breakfast he could find on his way to the institute.   
He hands them to her. She thanks him, and starts dabbing at the stain halfheartedly. Tim stands awkwardly in the doorway, the wind taken from his sails.  
"Uh. Where... is Jon?"   
"He's sleeping. He said there was a cot... somewhere around here." She pauses, looking up from her shirt, the light from the laptop screen reflecting briefly off of her glasses. "Tim, right?"   
"Yeah."   
"Do you - I mean, do you usually burst into your boss' office like that?"  
That surprises a laugh out of Tim. "More often than normal, I think."   
"Oh." Rebecca shifts awkwardly. "You all have very interesting jobs."   
"Interesting wouldn't be the word I'd use." Tim sits down in the chair people usually use when making statements. "You said Jon was asleep?"   
Rebecca nods.  
Tim, still not quite over his disbelief at the fact, asks, "what did you say?"   
Rebecca's lips lift in a half smile. "Something along the lines of what you were going to say, I think. I just didn't yell."  
"Ah. Yes. That never seems to go over well, when I try it." Tim rubs a hand over his face tiredly. "Sorry. About the shirt."   
"No harm done." Rebecca assures him. "It's better than blood."   
"What--?"   
"Rebecca? I heard a bang, what--" Jon stumbles in, sleep mussed and rumpled, still in his clothes from the day before and holding what looks like a chair leg of all things. He pauses when he sees Tim, bewildered before his face smooths out polite indifference. "Tim. When did you get in?"   
"Just now. Someone mind telling me what's going on?"   
Jon and Rebecca exchange a brief glance, and Rebecca clearly defers to Jon's decision. The archivist sighs, sets his chair leg aside, and tells Tim about his suspicions that Martin's disappearance has something to do with the Todd case, as well as the events of the night before. He, predictably, doesn't provide his sources, but that's just Jon.   
"Saved his sorry arse and got him to sleep," Tim whistles, looking to Rebecca. "You don't happen to want a job, do you?"   
Jon huffs, miffed, but Rebecca only laughs weakly.   
"If it's all the same, I don't think I could handle this being my every day life."   
"That's fair. I feel the same way, most days." Jon looks away at that. Good. Tim may not be able to leave, but he can express how stupid he thinks they're all being.   
"Yes. Well. Did you find anything before Tim made his rather eventful entrance?" Jon asks Rebecca, who shrugs.   
"The only news I could find was Katie's death, my parents' car wreck and my aunt's disappearance."   
"You never mentioned your aunt before." Jon remarks, gaze sharpening at the new information.   
"I didn't see it as relevant until... well, everything here started happening." Rebecca tells him. "Aunt Meredith was always a bit of a free spirit, apparently. My grandmother's family thought she'd run away. I realise now they didn't really care if that wasn't the case."  
"Well, there's a place to start. That would be Meredith Todd, right?" Tim asks. Rebecca nods and Tim stands. "I'll see what I can find out, then. Back in a jiff."

Jon lets out a heavy sigh once Tim leaves his office. "I'm sorry about that. Tim can be..." he trails off, unable to think of a word.  
Rebecca only just shakes her head. "It's alright. It's actually a little sweet, how close you all are."  
Jon clears his throat, and ducks his head as guilt gnaws at his ribs. "Yes. Well, the situation demands for it, sometimes."  
Rebecca looks like she rather not know what kind of situation that is. Jon envies her ignorance. 

Tim comes in hours later, holding two printouts and looking grim.   
Jon finds himself echoing the dread he can see on Rebecca's face.   
"Sasha came in," Tim explains, setting the print outs down on Jon's desk, "helped me find these."   
Jon peers at them, frowning. "Death certificates?"   
"Read the names."  
They do.   
"Oh." Rebecca says weakly, collapsing back in her seat. Tim gives her shoulder a gentle pat, but shares a grim look with Jon, who is staring at the death certificates for a Lucinda and Mila Weber, each nearly to the hour of the same day. Tim doesn't need to say that a week after Lucinda and Mila had died, Elise Todd had appeared.   
"I... I don't understand." Rebecca murmurs. "Why don't I remember... any of this?"  
"Good ol' grandmum mentioned a curse, didn't she?"   
"Oh. Lovely, a curse that - what? Kills my fiance, makes any potential friend go missing and makes me forget every single little detail of my life and replaces it with - oh god. Did my parents even die the way I remember?" Rebecca stands abruptly, her eyes alarmingly bright. She shakes her head, takes a deep breath, says, "I just - I need some air," and wheels around.   
Jon stands as well, hand outstretched, "Rebecca, wait --"  
The door to his office closes with a slam. Jon drops his hand with an aggravated huff.  
"Didn't take that well, did she?" Tim asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.   
Jon glares at him.  
Tim shrugs a shoulder, turns and leaves Jon's office. He bypasses his desk, and Sasha, who is typing away at something and barely looks up at him. Tim grabs his coat, and the cigarette's within his pocket and heads towards the building's entrance.   
Rebecca is leaning against the brick wall a little ways away from it, her face buried in her hands. Tim stops just a few feet away from her and leans against the wall as well, taking out the cigarettes and offering one to her when she looks up.   
For a brief moment, she looks tempted, but eventually shakes her head.   
Tim shrugs, and pulls one out for himself. "Suit yourself."   
"...You're very flippant." Rebecca remarks, watching Tim light the cigarette so she doesn't have to look him in the eye.  
"Martin's the worrier." Tim responds, and Rebecca slumps into the wall of the institute, guilt clouding her expression at the mention of the missing assistant. Tim feels a slight twinge at that, but pushes it aside.   
"This doesn't make any sense." She hisses out from between clenched teeth, glaring moodily into the middle distance. "None of it does - why do any of this? Why Katie? Why Martin? I'd only known him a few weeks..."   
Tim stays silent, taking a long drag from his cigarette and looking up at the sky. It's a clear day.  
Rebecca starts pacing in short, jerky steps, her arms crossed over her chest. She makes it to the edge of the institute's wall and comes back, repeating the motion several times, her brow furrowed.   
Tim exhales a cloud of smoke. "Maybe someone's jealous."   
"That's ridiculous." Rebecca responds absently. "Martin's sweet, but he's really not --" she stops short, shoulders tensing and eyes widening. "Martin's sweet." She repeats in the tone of voice Tim always imagined people shouting 'Eureka!' in.   
"What?"   
"Martin's sweet!"   
"Yes. You've said that, what does that have to do with -- whoa!" Tim loses his sentence and his cigarette when Rebecca grabs his wrist and drags him back into the archives - and Jon's office.   
The archivist looks up from the papers he's pouring over - what Sasha had been working on before, most likely - but blinks, surprised, when he catches sight of the grimly excited look on Rebecca's face.   
"I think I know what happened - or, well, at least a bit of what happened."   
Jon frowns and then gestures to the seat across his desk. "Tell me."   
Rebecca doesn't even both to sit, she just blurts, "it's the blood."  
"... What?"   
"Blood! My grandmother's always been so obsessed with it. 'Blood is thicker than water, Rebecca', 'blood can be tainted, Rebecca'... she used to say I was betraying my blood kin by thinking about marrying Katie - she told me that's what activates the curse."   
"Fine. Great." Tim butts in when Jon doesn't seem to want to ask the question. "What the hell does this have to do with Martin?"  
"What if there's no curse to activate? What if she just told me that to make me feel guilty and isolated, to keep me with her?" Rebecca asks. "She just doesn't want to let me go, and poor Martin got caught in the crossfire." She shifts uncomfortably. "I'm... I'm sorry, Jon."   
Tim wants to snort, to say Jon doesn't care, not really, but he holds his tongue because, for once, the look on the archivist's face says otherwise. 

It's late. The sun has long since dipped below the horizon and Elise Todd, formerly Lucinda Weber, puts the last of her clean dishes away for the night.   
The front door bangs open, and she fights down the beginnings of a smile. It's time, then.  
Rebecca marches in, furious and teary eyed, and slams something down on the table. It's a packet of papers, two death certificates displayed proudly on top.   
"Some of my finest work," Elise muses, running an index finger along the edges of the paper. "It was such a shame about Mila, though."   
"You killed her, didn't you? Just like you killed Katie?" Rebecca demands, and she's angry, but that's alright. She'll be over it soon enough. And if she's not... well, Elise has her ways.  
"Not 'just like', dear. Both had such different circumstances, and I can't keep it all the same. People would get suspicious." Elise pushes the papers aside dismissively. "But now that you know, I can teach you. Wouldn't that be nice?"   
Rebecca is staring at her, eyes wide and wet and full of disbelief. They're the eyes of a child whose had their last comfort ripped from them, that last, little lie disproven. Elise realises she might have to fix that, alter it just a little. It's a good thing she'd thought ahead.  
"You... you killed her. You did, you --" the disbelief quickly turns to anger. "How could you? I loved her! I was happy and you killed her!"   
"Rebecca, dear, really --" Elise begins, miffed. "There's no need to shout."  
"No need to --? God damn you! You don't get to, to dismiss this, not after what you've done!" Rebecca jabs her finger at Elise, tears glistening on her cheeks and teeth clenched.   
"There will be others."   
Rebecca snorts, "and what, you'll kill them too?"  
"If I must. That woman was getting to be much too troublesome. You'll understand, soon."   
"No, I won't bloody understand." Rebecca growls, digging through the papers with trembling hands and coming up with a picture, one of her and Katie grinning at the camera, their arms around each other. "Why? Tell me why."   
"Rebecca--"  
"WHY!?" the younger woman roars.   
Elise's face hardens. "Now, this won't do." She flicks a hand. Rebecca stiffens, every muscle in her body refusing her commands, her mouth shutting with a snap. "There," Elise smiles, moving to the stove, where the kettle sits waiting. "You go and sit on the couch, dear. I'll explain." 

Rebecca moves, even though she doesn't want to. One foot, two foot march until she's in the living room and sitting on the couch, her movements not her own. She's stuck staring at the wall and listening to the sounds of her grandmother making tea in the kitchen.   
She's humming.   
Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut, relieved to find she can do that at least, and feels two tears escape from beneath her eyelids.   
She hopes, with a bitterness settling in her chest despite the thought, that Jon is having an easier time of it than she is. 

Jon curses, and ducks under what looks like a skin suit, hanging from a line like someone's laundry.   
At least he's solved the mystery of their walking, human shaped blood bags. Normally, he'd be at least a little inclined to discover the process, but he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like finding Martin, and getting him the hell out of here, because he's alive, and there's no other acceptable option.   
He tightens his grip on his torch, and sweeps the beam of light slowly across the basement.  
He nearly mistakes Martin's crumpled form as a pile of clothes, but hurries forward once he realises what he's seeing, his heart in his throat. 

"There," Elise mutters, putting the tea tray on the living room table with a slight clatter.   
Rebecca notes, with a growing sense of unease, that there are three, fine china cups. The kind Elise always brings out when they have company.   
"Do you know how your friend takes his tea, dear? It would be rude of us not to offer, after all." Elise stares at her, hawkish, before sighing. "No? Shame. I'll just have to ask him myself." 

Martin starts thrashing weakly in clear distress seconds before hands clamp onto Jon's upper arms, grip like iron, and drag him away. He fights with little success, only stopping his thrashing when the blood bags - Elise Todd's little minions - drag him into the living room.   
Rebecca's eyes, the only thing moving in her face, stare at him in anguish. Elise smiles at him maternally.   
"Mr. Sims. It's good to see you again. Have a seat, won't you? I'm sure you're just bursting with questions. Would you like some tea?"  
"What have you done to Martin?" Jon demands, forced to sit by the two faceless men that had dragged him out of the basement.  
"My powers need some kind of reserve, Mr. Sims, and dear Mila could only last so long."   
Jon stares, horrified. "You're... you're harvesting him?"   
Elise considers, tilting her head. "Well, I suppose that could explain it, yes."  
Rebecca lets out an choked noise, half sob, half cry of indigence. Elise Todd flicks her fingers, expression pinched, and Rebecca slumps into the couch, limp, a puppet with her strings cut. Jon scrambles to catch her before she falls face first off of the couch.   
"She's only sleeping." Elisa says, before Jon can work himself into a frenzy checking pulses and the like. "When I'm finished, she'll wake, and this will all have been a dream."  
Jon swallows thickly. "And Martin and I? I suppose we'll be dead."   
"Not quite." Elise tuts, pouring herself some tea. "The boy - Martin, was it? - has been useful, but I've been fairly liberal with my meddling lately, and he's nearly all dried up."   
Jon feels a wave of terror pulse though him. "You can't - you -"   
"Oh, Mr. Sims, you'll find I can." Elise takes a testing sip of her tea, smacking her lips in satisfaction. "My, my. Are you certain you don't want any? It's quite good."   
Jon opens his mouth. To say what, he doesn't know. To scream. To rage. To demand that this witch release Martin. He's struck with the sudden, overwhelming urge to burn the whole place to the ground with Elise Todd still inside.   
There's a knock on the door, so unexpected it derails that train of thought entirely.   
Elise purses her lips in annoyance, getting to her feet with a fluid grace that is at complete odds with her age.   
"Now who could that be?" She mutters to herself and she is confident enough, Jon realizes, to just leave him sitting on the couch, guarded only by her human shaped blood bags. That wave of anger crests once more. Though the haze of it, he hears Elise opening the front door.   
And then, unexpectedly, there's the crack of bone, and the thump of a body hitting the floor, following by hurried footsteps. The blood bags standing guard slump, rigidity leaving them.  
"What in the -" The footsteps come to a stop in the living room door, and Jon feels his jaw drop open. "Tim?"   
"Hi, Jon." Tim gives a little wave, taking in the scene before him. "I've just punched an old lady unconscious in clear view of a street, essentially broke into her house and have Sasha lurking very suspiciously in your car outside. If we're going to be escaping, we should be doing it now, before someone calls the police."   
Jon blinks. "Right. Yes. Of course. Here," the archivist shoves Rebecca towards the other man, and Tim hurries forward to catch her as she slumps in his direction. "Try and wake her up. I have to go and get Martin."  
"He's alive?" Tim asks, wide eyed, and Jon hates that is a question that can be asked in surprise.   
"Yes." Jon says shortly, getting to his feet and hurrying back towards the basement.  
"I'll be damned." Jon hears Tim mutter, and tries to ignore the tightening in his chest, the your fault, your fault, they should be allowed to be safe running circles in his head as he rushes headlong down the steep stairs of the basement.   
Martin is right where Jon had found him originally, much too pale and sprawled out on the cold stone floor. Jon's heart jumps into his throat, and he drops to his knees at the other man's side.  
Martin doesn't react when Jon lays a hand on his shoulder, and he's so very cold, but he's breathing, and Jon will take that for now. He quickly gathers Martin up and somehow manages to drag him back up the stairs to where Tim is waiting with a bleary eyed, rousing Rebecca.  
"Wha 'appened?" Jon overhears Rebecca asking, but Tim just snorts.   
"I have no idea. Just joined the party."   
Rebecca seems surprised to hear Tim's voice, and lifts her head to squint at him muzzily. "When did you--" but then she spots Jon, dragging Martin's limp weight and pales, straightening so quickly she nearly overbalances, smacking at Tim's chest with an open palm. "Go. Go help, I'm fine."   
Tim, who has been treated to the same sight as Rebecca, wastes no time in hurrying forward and picking up the slack, so that now they're holding Martin between them.  
"Mission accomplished. Let's get out of here now, yeah?"   
For once, Jon is in complete agreement and they try to make a break for the door.   
Between them, Martin twitches, letting out a low, tortured groan, and the blood bags spring up to rigid attention.   
"Shit."  
One blood bag grabs Tim, wrenching him away, and Jon drops under Martin's sudden weight before the second can grab him too, although the archivist is too preoccupied with making sure Martin doesn't hit his head to appreciate how close it had come to him being dragged off as well. Rebecca, still the closest to the door, is lifted off of her feet and thrown across the living room. She hits the wall with a crack, and drops to disappear behind the couch and Elise Todd, stood in the hallway, sniffs dismissively and lowers her hand, both her eyes already beginning to bruise and blood running down the bottom half of her face.   
"It's a shame it has to come to this. Really. I had quite hoped we'd be able to talk it out." She says, although Jon isn't quite certain who she's speaking to. She does sound truly mournful, which is just ridiculous because the longer she exercises... whatever control she has over the forces she's using to waylay their escape, the colder and more unresponsive Martin gets.   
She's killing him, Jon knows, and it fills him with a helpless kind of horror.  
He's still desperately trying to think of something, anything, when Elise lifts her hand again. Martin's breath hitches alarmingly, and Jon chokes out the other man's name, cradling Martin's face between his palms. Tim is making weak choking sounds and damn it, Jon is going to be next, and he can't do anything --  
"Wait! Wait, please!" Rebecca stumbles back onto the scene, blood staining one half of her face. She grabs Elise's arm, forcing it down. Tim's choking stops. Jon dares to lift his gaze from Martin's face long enough to see Rebecca sway dizzily towards her grandmother, expression imploring.   
"Rebecca, dear, really." Elise chides, eyes hard. "You've grown much too attached to--"  
Rebecca grabs at something around Elise's neck, throwing it to the ground and crushing it under her heel.   
The soft, maternal look vanishes from Elise's face for the first time as she screams, loud and shrill, and time stutters. When it restarts, there's a new person in the room, the woman from Jon's dreams.   
"... Katie?" Rebecca gasps in the silence that follows, and the woman grins, the blood on her teeth as fresh as the first time Jon had seen it.   
"Not quite, darling."  
Rebecca recoils, her expression doing some impressive acrobatics, going from shock, to disgust to hurt and disbelief in the span of a second as Elise drops to her knees at what appears to be the remnants of the pendant that Rebecca had crushed, scrabbling.  
"You... what have you... you can't..."  
Katie - or, the creature wearing Katie's likeliness - smiles benignly down at the panicking Elise. "It's over, Lucinda. You've kept me captive long enough, don't you think?"  
Elise pales, face slowly lifting to look at the creature. She opens her mouth, maybe to form some kind of supplication, to plead, or something along those lines, but the creature waves a dismissive hand, and in the place where Elise Todd had once knelt there is nothing more than blood and viscera.   
Rebecca lets out a strangled shriek, clapping her hands over her mouth and stumbling back. The creature just continues to grin, eyes tracking lazily from Rebecca, to Tim (who is hovering between the conscious world and the unconscious, gasping weakly for breath), to Jon, before finally coming to a rest on Martin.  
"So. What now, archivist?"  
Jon is about to ask what exactly the creature means by that. But then he realizes Martin hasn't breathed in some time, and all logical thought takes flight out of the window.   
"No. No, no, no. Martin?" Jon shakes the other man with the hands he still has on Martin's cheeks, breath hitching when he realizes just how pale Martin has gotten, gaze focusing on sunken eyelids. "Martin! Damn you, wake up! This isn't... you can't... Martin, please..."

The thing wearing Katie's face tuts, shaking her - its - whatever head pityingly. Eyes the colour of ruptured blood vessels turn to regard Rebecca, who is faintly aware of Martin's plight. Not all of it is making it through, but Rebecca can hear Jon's increasing despair.  
"Shame, isn't it?" The thing wearing Katie's face asks, and it takes Rebecca a long moment to realise that its speaking to her.   
"I--" Rebecca's hands drop from her mouth to rest limply at her sides. Jon has given up on trying to shake Martin awake and is sitting there, with the other man in his lap, harsh breathing sounding dangerously close to sobs. Sympathy breaks through the shock then. "Is... is there something you can do?"   
The thing wearing Katie's face smiles, and Rebecca feels a shiver of repulsion work its way down her spine at the sight of blood on its teeth. "There might be." 

Jon turns the recorder off and scrubs a hand over his face.  
"I thought you were meant to be taking a break."   
Jon startles at the unexpected intrusion, his head shooting up, and Rebecca takes a half step back, grimacing apologetically.   
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She apologizes, and then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, shifting nervously. "I just - I came to say goodbye to everyone and they told me you were here too, working and --" she lets out a gusty exhale. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"   
Jon manages a smile. "You would have given Martin a run for his money."   
Rebecca barks out a laugh. "Oh, come off it. I'm not that bad." She ventures a little further into his office, and Jon notices the bag on her back, presumably packed full of travel necessities. "I just - well, I guess I wanted to say goodbye. And I'm sorry. And thank you."  
Jon clears his throat, shifting. "Yes. Well, you're welcome. But I can't help but ask if you're... sure. About leaving."   
Rebecca grips the straps of her bag and looks away, eyes fixed determinedly on the shelves of files lining the walls of Jon's office. "I need answers. I'm not going to get them here in London." Her lips quirk in a dry smile. "I've already exhausted the resources here, after all. The institute's library is impressive, but not comprehensive. Thank you for that too, by the way."  
"That one wasn't entirely me." Jon replies just as Martin pokes his head into the office.   
"Jon, where did you say you wanted - oh! Rebecca, hi. I, uh, didn't know you were stopping by."   
"Just saying goodbye to everyone before I go to the airport." Rebecca tells him, smiling.   
Martin smiles back, and Jon marvels once more at the good a week has done the other man. There's colour back in his cheeks, and a light in his eyes Jon had been certain he'd never see again for a few horrible moments sat there on the floor on Elise Todd's sitting room with Martin's body cooling in his lap.   
"We'll miss you." Martin is saying, and Jon shakes the thoughts of that time very firmly from his mind. "You'll write, won't you?"   
"Of course." Rebecca responds, like the alternative insults her. "It'll be a little like a research trip."   
"It does sound less, ah... dangerous, when you put it like that."  
"I'll be fine, Martin." Rebecca assures, and then gives Jon a knowing look. "But seriously, thank you. I'll keep in touch, yeah? Take care, you two."  
Martin steps back to let her leave Jon's office, and Jon hears her starting up a conversation with Sasha before Martin slips into the office in her place. Jon takes a hold of the other man's wrist when he's close enough and draws him closer. Martin leans comfortably against Jon, letting out a little, content sigh and petting absently at the hair at the side of Jon's head.   
They don't usually kiss in the archives, but that's typically to avoid Tim's relentless ribbing when he catches them, and not out of any real sense of propriety.   
"Did she mention that you were meant to be resting?" Martin questions, not at all subtle.   
Jon sighs. "I'm alright, Martin. You don't need to fuss."   
"I'm going to anyway." Martin tells him. "I worry, Jon. The doctor said you'd lost a lot of blood."   
"I'm fine." Jon repeats, and, because he's had partners that have told him he's sometimes unreadable, he squeezes Martin's hand and tells him, "it was worth it."   
Martin flushes, but continues regardless. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not end up in a situation like that again... Ever."   
"... I admit I share that sentiment." Jon murmurs, and takes a moment to just relax.

Rebecca slips into the driver's seat of her rental car, tossing her bag into the passenger's seat. The institute is just a dot in the distance when it appears, still wearing Katie's face and grinning. Rebecca meets its eyes in the rear view mirror.  
"So," it purrs, "where are we going?"

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a way of stress relief in the beginning of the year, and a friend of mine suggested I post it because it's the first work I've finished in years. I had just finished season one and was starting season two, so it's not going to follow canon - like, at all. It diverges some time after Prentiss was dealt with and that's all I can tell you. Hopefully, someone gets some enjoyment out of it. 
> 
> Happy reading.
> 
> If I need to tag anything else, please let me know.


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